To Forgive
by Ifrithe
Summary: She figured making the same mistakes would make forgiveness come easy. NaruHina, NaruSaku, implied SasuSaku


Note: This is a NaruHina one-shot, but there will be an intimate NaruSaku moment. Nothing explicit. SasuSaku is implied as an established couple. This fic will touch the subject of infidelity and reasons why they did the things they did. Don't throw tomatoes on me, yet. I tried writing in a deeper, more emotional level. Give it a read. Reviews are much appreciated.

—

To Forgive

She figured making the same mistakes would make forgiveness come easy.

—

He laid lazily on the creaky bed, sweat dripping from his forehead to his temples, and to the sheet just as messy as his hair. He scratched his head and wondered how strange the room smelled—of sweat and smoke, and cheap perfume. He wondered why he had never noticed that before. Maybe he did, he just never had the chance to ponder on things like he did now.

He turned to his side and drew circles on her skin. He knew she's awake; her breath short and labored. The kind that she did when coming down from the high.

"Don't you think 17 years is too long to love someone who doesn't love you back?" she whispered without turning; eyes screwed shut in muted despair.

He stopped his mindless ministration, and turned on his back with a resigned smile.

"I think he does," he answered her in calm. "He does," affirmed his own statement.

She didn't face him; her hitched breath the only sign she had heard what he said.

His phone rang once. It read eleven in the evening. There was no clock in rooms like this.

He moved to sit on the end of the bed and started gathering his clothes.

"I'm pregnant with my husband, you know?" She declared, suddenly facing him. Green eyes bright with unshed tears.

He stood before her fully clothed.

"You should go," he suggested softly; his blue eyes dark in the faint light.

She was dressed in no time and was out the door. He didn't move from where stood.

There were no 'goodbyes' and 'see you's'. This time, he knew, was the last visit to the past.

—

He was greeted with a house shrouded in the dark. He ventured to the kitchen for leftovers. He frowned. There was none. He filled a glass with water and downed it in one go.

The house smelled of tea, and fruits, and scented candles. He wondered why he had never noticed that before. He didn't ponder on his observation. He figured he had done that too many times early this evening.

He was under the shower a moment later—scrubbing his skin raw off the sweat and the smell of smoke and cheap perfume. He was crying; he noted belatedly. And as his anguish run down like water did to the drain, he punched the wall until his knuckles bled and broke.

It was no mistake. Not when it became a habit. Not when he went for it head first. It was an intentional spite on the present he never knew he needed—for a walk down the memory lane.

Realization rained on him with bricks to break his bones. He was repulsed of himself and of how his disillusioned mind painted the fruits of his sin. It was worth it—he really thought it was—to experience the love he had always known he wanted. Funny, after everything had been done, he'd figure that he didn't love her. And he was goddamn sure of it now. Love is something that sets you free—something you wouldn't hide in the shadows—in a dimly lit room that smelled like smoke, sweat, and sin.

Bile rose to his throat, and he barfed the recognition of his disillusionment.

—

She was turned away from him when she slept. This never bothered him before, but now, drowning in shame and regret, how wanted to have those gray—gray eyes of hers be the judge of him.

"Hinata," he whispered breathlessly; feeling his heart beating in his mouth.

"Forgive me. I—I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She didn't turn to him. Her breathing stayed steady—deep and calm. "Sleep, Naruto."

She said nothing more.

—

He came home armed with a bouquet of white tulips and daffodils—ready to grovel on her feet should she ask him to. He flipped the lights on, and noted how dark it was despite it being only at six in a summer evening. Everything seemed in placed, though.

"I'm home," he announced to his wife which was nowhere in sight. "Hinata?"

He frowned. Perhaps, she was caught up at work. He figured he could prepare a nice dinner for them for once. They could chat about anything and everything. It had been a while since they truly bonded together. He missed her smiles and blushes, really. He missed her. How he wished they could start afresh.

He took to cooking meticulously and made sure everything was perfect. He would do this every day; he promised. She needed to know he wouldn't go anywhere, and he was ready to give all the love he had and more. She would be the only one.

Hours passed. The food had gone cold. He was roused from his sleep by his protesting stomach, and she wasn't there. His phone rang once. He rushed to it thinking it was his wife calling. It read eleven in the evening, instead. He choked on his saliva at the reminder of his treachery.

He punched the wall until his knuckles bled and broke. He kept on calling her phone. She didn't answer.

She would later lay on her side of the bed around midnight. She would do that as many nights her husband did.

—

She came running to the bath scrubbing her skin raw off the smell of sweat, smoke, and musk. She was crying; she remarked belatedly. And as her anguish run down like water did to the drain, so was her love as she slid down the wall hugging her knees to herself.

It was a mistake, she concluded, to let a sin be understood by a sin of the same quality. She figured making the same mistakes would make forgiveness come easy—but it didn't. She couldn't understand him then, and now she couldn't forgive herself.

Funny, after everything had been done, she'd figure that she couldn't love another. And they said that love is something that sets you free—something that wouldn't drive you and cage you—in a dimly lit room that smelled like smoke, sweat, and sin.

Bile rose to her throat, and she barfed the fear of forgiving and being forgiven.

—

He was facing her when he slept. It never bothered her before, but now, drowning in guilt and anger, she wanted not to have his blue—blue eyes be the judge of her.

"Naruto," she choked; her heart pounding in her ears.

"I'm sorry. I—"

He didn't let her finish. His breathing becoming labored—shallow and erratic. "Come, Hinata."

He hugged her close to his heart, and said steadily and truthfully, "I love you."

He would prove it everyday and more.

—

Note: Some might claim that Hinata won't cheat at Naruto, but hey, I'm sure she would do anything just so she she could understand and love him, even that. In a twisted perspective of course.


End file.
